Names
by Helena McKennon
Summary: Remus Lupin is the only one to call Tonks by her first name. What does Tonks think of it? Stylistic challenge for myself.


Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine.  All hail JK Rowling.

Names

            He doesn't listen to her.  She's told him time and again, but he doesn't listen.  He'll smile that mildly amused smile and correct himself when she points it out, but the next time – and there always is a next time – he forgets and says it wrong.  Again.  

            She had wondered if he was deaf, but now she's decided that he's simply stubborn.  She wouldn't have thought it, looking at him.  He seems so worn, so relaxed, as though he wouldn't have the strength or the backbone to stand up to anyone as energetic and persistent as she.  But he's stubborn.

            He never gets it right the first time.  No one else dares to do this to her, not even that grouchy lunatic who, bless him, trained her.  And if she could get that paranoid old Auror to do it correctly, she can get a deliberately forgetful wizard to do the same.  Everyone else remembers; everyone else gets it right.

            But not him; never him.  She's nearly resigned to it now.  He's stubborn, and he'll do things his own way.  But she's stubborn too, and she'll correct him every time.  And he'll smile that faintly satisfied smile, the one that tells her he _knows_ what she wants but is doing it his way because that's what he prefers.  

            And she growls at him and tells him the right name and he apologizes without really meaning it.  He listens to her tirade but doesn't pay any attention – she knows this – because he's stubborn and he'll do what he pleases.  It doesn't matter how many times she rants at him; he doesn't listen to her.  In one ear and out the other.  Because he's stubborn.  Almost as stubborn as she is, but she doesn't doubt she'll win in the end

            She waits for that day with undisguised glee.  She's going to snare the wolf in his own game.  He'll cave in first.  She's more stubborn than him.  She'll make him listen.

            She achieves her victory.  He introduces her correctly now, and she doesn't have to remind him anymore.  He's given up, it seems, and has conceded the match to her.  It only took two years.  Not that much time, really, and the victory is sweet.

            Except it isn't.  She's supposed to be wallowing in the conquest, crowing in triumph, reveling in the fact that she's lasted longer than him, that she's the one who was the more stubborn.  She's not supposed to miss the fight.

            She's not supposed to miss correcting him.  No one gets it wrong anymore; no one seems to remember the fact that he used to have to be reminded.  He doesn't seem to remember; he acts as though he never did anything but what she has forced him into.

            She's not supposed to miss it.  It's not supposed to work that way.

            She's a bit muddled over the whole thing.  

            She's not supposed to miss it.  It's supposed to be a triumph every time he looks at her and calls the correct name to bring her over to his side, to catch her attention.  It's a badge of honor, the fact that she's converted him to her way, that she doesn't have to worry about correcting him anymore. 

            Instead, every time he says the right name, she misses the wrong one.  She hated her first name; too many jokes as a child, too many taunts, simply too many syllables and letters.  Her surname was easier, simpler, less girly, less pretentious, less flowery.  More her.  But she had grown used to hearing him say the name she hated.  From him, it sounds… different.  Not as awful as she knows it is.

            She isn't supposed to miss it.

            "Remus?"

            "Yes, Tonks?"  He looks up from a pile of haphazardly stacked parchment.

She bites her lip.  "I have a question."

He sets his quill down, leans back in his chair.  "What is it?"

            She is nervous, and she toys with the parchment closest to her side of his small desk.  "Why did you stop?"

            "Stop what?" 

            He sounds confused, she thinks, and takes a deep breath.  "Calling me Nymphadora."

            His eyebrows rise.  "I thought that you didn't want me to."

            "I didn't.  I mean, I don't.  But why did you stop?"

            A light comes into his eyes, one she hasn't seen before.  She's not sure if she likes it or not – the relaxed Remus, the patient, tattered, kind Remus, the Remus she knows – that Remus is gone, eclipsed by this light in his eyes.  It's a strange light, burning reckless and bright, and she can't decide if she wants to step closer to study it or step back and flee from it.

            "Why are you asking?  Miss it?"

            "No!"  But she denies it a bit too fast, and she can see the satisfaction in that smug, amused smile of his.  He stands, and she hurries to explain herself.  "No, I was just thinking – I mean, I just realized that you – you used to call me – but now you never – "  She forces herself to shut up as soon as she realizes that none of her sentences are complete thoughts.

            He's smiling now, not just that politely constrained smile she's used to, but that one that he uses all too infrequently.  He's truly smiling now, truly happy – it's the smile that makes her heart do cartwheels, the one that she's always glad to see.

            "I think you miss it, don't you, Tonks?"

            She winces – barely – at his use of her surname.  Even after a month or two of victory, it doesn't sound right to her.  "No."

            "You always were a liar."  

            He's close now; he's come around the desk and he's standing right beside her.  One of his hands takes her shoulder and turns her to face him. He's taller than her, and he looks down on her.  She feels the need to defend herself.  "I don't like my first name."

            "No, you don't…"  He leans down to whisper in her ear.  "But I do, Nymphadora."

            His voice – her name – sends a shiver through her.  His satisfaction is so obvious she can almost taste it.

            "I don't like people calling me that."  Her voice is nearly a whisper.

            "No, Nymphadora, you don't like other people calling you that."  His lips brush against her ear.  "But you must admit, you like me calling you that."  He traces his way across her face with his lips.  "Nymphadora."

            She shuts her eyes as he kisses her, and lets him pull her close because it's really rather nice to wrap her arms around him and feel him against her.

            She can't decide who's won, her or him.

            She doesn't think it matters.

            He admits to luring her in with it, and she pretends to be upset and really is quite grateful he's as sneaky and stubborn as she is.

            But still, she's stubborn too, and so she's holding out for a nice, normal name for their daughter.

Reviews make me happy… and yes, this was a stylistic challenge for myself.  I don't normally write in the present tense.


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